Fight, Fight, Fight
by Cheating Gravity
Summary: Draco is the Dark Lord's loyal pet, but Potter keeps sticking his nose where it doesn't belong and it makes Draco uncomfortable. HP/DM


A heavy silence was settled over the Slytherin table making the entire Great Hall somber. The 1st years stood fidgeting in a small, compact group anxiously waiting to be sorted. The cheers for the new House members were not nearly enthusiastic as years previous and the tension was undeniably thick. Draco Malfoy sported his usual chiseled expression of distaste and contempt. His eyes flickered every so often to the swirling gray nothingness of the sky enchanted ceiling. Crabbe and Goyle sat in their respective seats next to him, their faces shifted away from Draco as if not to draw attention to themselves. Draco shuddered inwardly. The gray nothingness felt like it was getting closer. He was sure it was going consume him. Merlin, if the stupid feast did not begin soon he was going to…

Dumbledore cleared his throat and began his speech. The food was served. The majority of the Slytherins kept semi full plates and a general queasy look about them. Draco snarled at his own plate, wishing that the uneasiness that crawled under his skin would fade away. Something was not right this year. His thoughts plagued him until he caught Harry Potter staring at him. His all purpose scowl deepened to threatening proportions. He attempted to communicate fuck off to the thick headed git, but the stare was heavy and unresponsive to his mental insult. After a moment Potter mouthed to him_. Follow me_.

Draco's back stiffened and his limbs went icy. Follow Potter for what? Follow him so that Draco could get reacquainted with Potter's rather accurate fists? Draco narrowed his eyes. He would have flipped him off if the action wasn't so plebian. Potter leaned forward and mouthed _Please_. Please? Was he losing his mind? Draco noticed for the first time that the Weasel and the Mudblood weren't flanking the Golden Boy. The She-Weasel sat to Harry's right and the bumbling fool Longbottom sat to Harry's left. The oddity made Draco scowl harder. He scanned the Gryffindor table and saw the two that were missing in action were seated five seats down conversing with the elder Weasel twins. How odd indeed.

Draco felt his curiosity peak and he caught Potter's eye again. He quirked his eyebrow and Potter seemed to know instinctively that he was acquiescing. It almost made Draco change his mind, his anger rising at how easily the stupid Golden Boy got everything he wanted, even out of him. Potter motioned to Draco to leave first, and even though Draco understood why he had to go first, he was rankled at the prospect of taking orders from Potter. If Potter left first, there would be uproar of why Malfoy followed Potter. Nobody would notice Draco slipping out.

He did it only because he was not going to be Potter's scandalous gossip tomorrow morning. Plus, the itchy feeling of uneasiness was starting to make him fidget and Malfoy's did not fidget. With a quick dismissal to Crabbe and Goyle, who barely paid any attention to him anyway, he left. Standing in the Entrance Hall, he felt better. The lack of scrutinizing eyes made his skin less itchy. Potter followed him quickly out, grabbing him by the elbow and rushing him through the castle doors. Draco made a loud noise of distaste, "Unhand me, you barbarian!"

"Quick, before someone comes after me," Potter rushed him down the path to Hagrid's hut, not relinquishing Draco's elbow.

"What the hell? Is this really necessary?" Draco demanded, but Potter didn't listen. He was roughly shoved behind a bush. Once they were both settled, Draco opened his mouth to complain, but Potter beat him to it.

"I've seen you in my dreams." Potter was inches away from Draco, and even though Draco was taller than him, he felt almost intimidated.

"Having wet dreams about me, eh? Wait till I tell…" he was stopped abruptly by a punch to the mouth which Draco followed with a curse to himself for coming out here in the first place when he _knew_ what would happen. Damn, those accurate fists. His lip was going to be puffy for at least a day.

"Shut up!" Potter roared without yelling, probably to keep himself undetected whilst he beat Draco to death. The ground was damp and Draco was just noticing that the seat of his pants was going to be ruined. Then, as suddenly as the punch, Potter grabbed his left arm and ripped off the sleeve. His breath caught. His heart stopped.

"You're bare..." Potter breathed it out as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

"You are paying for that!" Draco screeched scandalized. He was bare. Air returned to his lungs. His heart returned beating.

"But, I dreamed…"

"You are having some fucked up fantasies, Potter, seriously. Maybe you should take a visit to Madam Pomfrey. Check your head, you perverted idiot."

The black haired boy shoved him to his back and Draco was sure that fists were going to crash into his perfect face soon. Instead, he heard a desolate cry of fury. Mad about his clothes, he spat, "Look, just because you're insane doesn't mean it's the end of the world. They'll give you a nice, padded room full of objects that you can't hurt yourself with. Or let your perversity-"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Potter roared and came at him again, but he was ready. He rolled out of the way and lunged at Potter's form on the ground, pinning the smaller boy down. He grabbed his wrists with one hand, hair in the other and tugged back. Potter coughed and sputtered.

"Ah, ah, ah…" Draco admonished and then smashed the Golden Boy's face into the hard ground. There was a grunt and then a snarl. "That is for punching me." He did it again. "That is for tearing my sleeve." Again. "That is for ruining my pants." Once more. "That is for wasting my time."

Draco released Potter's hands and made a hasty retreat. Who the hell did Potter think he was dealing with? He skipped the rest of the feast heading straight for the Slytherin Common Room. He was use to not eating after the summer he had. The walk was a long and cold one. The stones felt distant from him, but he felt calmer that they weren't the platinum crystallized stone of Malfoy Manor. The thought of home made his back shiver. A half crazed smirk marked his expression.

His four poster bed was standard. Dumbledore made sure that the Malfoy heir had no perks during his stay at Hogwarts. Satin black sheets were tucked under a velvet emerald duvet. He kept some semblance of his former home luxuries. Four other beds were shoved in their respective places in the room. Turning towards the bathroom, Draco decided to shower before Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, and Nott came back. The magicked light for the bathroom threw harsh shadows against his skin and he cringed. Looking into a mirror, there were black smudges under his eyes and if he looked closely he noticed that his cheeks looked a little hollowed out.

"You look dashing as always, dear," the mirror singed to him, "Although a bit on the tired side."

Draco snarled back. The muscles in his arms rippled. A black, inky stain marred the pale skin of his left forearm. The skull tattoo had eyes that seemed to watch him and a snake continuously moved out of its mouth. It was the Dark Mark modified. Draco grasped his arm, digging his fingernails into inked flesh.

"Who the fuck do you think you're dealing with, Potter?"

Draco put his palm to his mouth and bit down. He vocalized his frustration into a growling yell. This year was going to be hell. He took his shower quickly, not wanting to have any contact at all with the others. He cast the last ward around his four poster bed when he heard the footsteps of the Slytherins travel close to the room. He laid his head on his pillow, taking his night shirt off. A silver snake necklace draped over Draco's collarbone. The snake's mouth was wrapped around its tail to secure its place around Draco's neck. Ruby red eyes peered menacingly out from the silver head. Draco clutched it with his left hand and waited.

Three.

Two.

One.

The feeling was not like using the Floo or a Portkey. It was like his cells simply did not exist in one place and existed once more in another place. Before, he felt the sweet sensation of silk on his back. Now he felt the rough material of a rug. Slit like ruby eyes gazed at him from above. Draco scrambled to his knees. He bowed his head and took the black hem into his hands, kissing it reverently.

"My Lord."

Draco felt a chill ghost across his body as the Dark Lord's fingertips danced through his hair. The room was small and without other servants. It was the Dark Lord's study. Draco had been there several times over the duration of the summer. It was also his Father's old study. He had visited it then much less often. Malfoy Manor's walls hugged them and Draco felt the building's magic ripple beneath his skin.

"My little Malfoy has come home to me," Voldemort hissed softly as if he were in doubt about Draco's return.

"Of course, my Lord. I am yours to command," Draco breathed. He kept his head low to the ground. He dared not disrespect the man before him. A low hissing noise came from behind him and he imagined Nagini crawling her way over to wrap around his entire form. Voldemort hissed back fluidly. This happened sometimes. To Draco, if he didn't know any better, he was sure that Nagini was jealous of him. This made his spine tingle with fear. He was afraid of Nagini and Voldemort knew it. He used Draco's fear of Nagini to amuse himself.

"For your act of loyalty," Voldemort began while using wandless magic to raise Draco from his kneeling position on the floor, "I shall give you a treat."

Black fire surrounded the Dark Lord's hand, long fingers and all. He sent it shooting towards Draco who took it like a muggle bullet to the chest. His back arched and he threw his head back. The adrenaline coursed through his veins, stealing his breath away. He was inside himself. He was outside of himself. He felt the fire burn him and freeze him. Black and purple colored his vision and he thought for a moment that his feet had left the ground. His tongue had disappeared. Briefly he wondered if he had bitten it off. It was all so real and unreal.

It was black magic that coursed through him. Every particle of his being was infused with it. It was a drug. A magical drug that the Dark Lord gave to his faithful servants every once and a while. He gave it to the less important lackeys were trained to need it. Devour it and come back begging for more. At first, Draco had been sickened by their weakness, but then he had felt the power. He had understood.

Voldemort had changed his Father's study from finely crafted crystal trinkets and light airy furniture to Dark artifacts and large ornate furniture. His favorite chair was cattycorner to the door and the fireplace. The rug that Draco had teleported to was lying directly in front of it. It was black with silver designs playing around the edges. Draco sometimes looked at the edges when he was under the black magic. He had hallucinated once that the designs were prophetic, telling his tragic end to the story. In fact, if one actually looked with clear eyes, the silver was only snakes consuming each other.

When Draco felt the effects of the magic wear off, he was sitting in Voldemort's lap in the high back chair. His back was being petted and Draco felt thoroughly exhausted. Voldemort put his mouth next to Draco's ear and whispered, "Did you have fun, my pet?"

Draco had no words. He rarely did at this point in this fucked up game the Dark Lord played with him. Within seconds Draco found himself stuck to the ceiling, his body spread eagle as if he were bound in chains and not magic. Voldemort had his wand out. This was when the real _fun_ time began. Draco was just glad that Nagini had vacated the room.

"You spoke of Potter," Voldemort accused him, "Something about, who did he think he was messing with? Did something happen with our dear Boy-Who-Lived?"

"He ripped my shirt," Draco began. His voice sounded distant to him, "He said he had dreamed of me. He didn't see my Mark."

"Did you have any doubts of my concealment charm?" Voldemort queried while walking underneath him. His wand twirled over and under too long fingers. Draco would have shaken his head, but he couldn't move. His head wanted to pound from his position on the ceiling. Voldemort raised his wand to him and had his arms and legs pulled further from his body. It ached, but Draco brushed it off.

"Of course not," Voldemort answered for him, "You are my warrior at Hogwarts, little Malfoy. I could not let them have you. They would not know the first thing to do with you. You are mine."

Voldemort curved his wand in the air like an artist would a paint brush. The Dark Mark began to engrave itself on to Draco's exposed hip. Draco whimpered pathetically. He was the Dark Lord's pet. In the back of his mind, he saw Potter's eyes flashing at him. He was little more than a thing to be used. He didn't even feel human. Puncture wounds hit him suddenly and he screamed.


End file.
